


May Our Lights Shine Through the Night and Bring You Cheer

by IuvenesCor



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Multi, Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chronicles of six Christmases, as celebrated by an impossible family scattered through space and time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May Our Lights Shine Through the Night and Bring You Cheer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [truthtakestime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/gifts).



> This was written as something of a gift for truthtakestime (who also provided me with this story's summary.) Merry Christmas, dear!
> 
> All recognizable characters are the property of the BBC and the brilliant writers of Doctor Who. I'm just borrowing them. :)

_London_ _, England_

_A.D.  2015_

“Tony, stop yellin’! You’ll wake poor Katherine up!”

 Rose made her best effort to not laugh; she wasn’t concerned about her brother waking the other child with his jubilant shouts of “Happy Christmas!” as much as she was concerned about her mother’s blood pressure. For the sake of a fittingly silent night, it was best not to encourage the boisterous festivities more than was necessary.

 The eight year old was halfway through another “happy” when Jackie rounded the corner and glared at him with laser-guided accuracy. “Anthony Tyler, for goodness sake, what did I tell you? Either you run outside and yell, or I’ll tell Santa to take all your presents back,” she threatened.

Petulantly, Tony clamped his mouth shut, plopping down into the nearest chair. But as Jackie disappeared into the kitchen once again, a smile as bright as Christmas lights stretched across his face.  Though there was no sound to accompany it, his lips parted to form a very rebellious but genuine “Happy Christmas” one last time— and Rose, glad to oblige, mimicked the motion.

It took little more time than the space of a blink for the boy to pop out of his seat and rush to the kitchen. (Judging by Jackie’s exasperated sigh, he came to beg for another taste test of their dinner, still on the stove.) Rose shook her head and brought the festive mug of chamomile in her grasp to her lips, watching as the lively breezes outside blew snow off of the nearest rooftops. Slipping one hand down, she nudged the Doctor’s hand and gently clasped it in hers. 

Speaking of the man, he had been alternating between observing his in-laws and keeping watch over the little girl curled up on the couch, wearing a little grin for both. But now he had turned to gaze up at the darkening sky, and Rose knew full well that he was naming and numbering the galaxies. 

“I miss it too,” she whispered. It wasn’t an uncommon phrase— they had often shared it with each other on every clear night. And still, the sentence had not lost its meaning, or its subliminal end: _“Maybe someday.”_

But for the time being, they needed to be content with good old Earth; after all, they had responsibilities that needed caring for. And though every day ignited a spark of yearning in their hearts for their former lives, that desire steadily waned through the years that they had already spent. Time and space had been swapped for a mortgage and carpets and all manner of _normal_ things. Even the Oncoming Storm and the Bad Wolf were, as much as they hated to admit it, capable of being remarkably domestic.

The Doctor sighed, fully looking like the wistful old man he was.  “Did I ever tell you about Paxlodian? A whole solar system with a fourteen month-long winter.”

“Fourteen?”

“Calendar year’s nineteen months long. The other five months are pure sunshine, twenty-four seven. But when winter comes back around on Mol, the only inhabited planet, they spend six months just planning for their equivalent of Christmas festivities.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. The Feast of Grace, they call it. All sorts of celebrating for the rest of the year.” 

Rose laughed. “Sounds like a real party planet.”

As he squeezed her hand, she could tell that a little of the old life was coming back to him, painting a happy glow in his cheeks. “Paxlodian’s not that far away, actually. Maybe I’ll take you there someday.”

“I think by the time we get our own ship, we’ll be too old for a wild galactic party,” she— somewhat sadly— teased.

“Aw, now, you can never get too old for partying.” Her husband threw her a cheeky wink as he said, “Look at me, for example.”

As she shook her head fondly, she did, in fact, look at him. It took very little to remind her how old he was, especially in light of the fact that this Doctor aged as a man should: faint wrinkles had been setting into his skin, and his eyes were just a little calmer than they had been, even on his calmest days of the past. But it only took one of those token smiles of his, the kind that was impossibly infectious, to make him seem youthful again. At times, she found herself forgetting that he ever _hadn’t_ been eternally young.

Guiding him closer to her side, she remarked, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. But we’ve got a way to go before we’re properly old, yeah?”

“Well, _you_ do.” His smile waxed soft. “I’ll just play along. After all, I’ve got too many things left to show you before all my energy’s gone. But of course, you’re right: we have plenty of time. Today, we’ll just have our own little party as we planned.” With a quieter sigh, he leaned to place a kiss on her head. “Happy Christmas, Rose.”

Rose squeezed his hand firmly. She was becoming progressively convinced that “domestic” really wasn’t so bad after all.

“Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

 

 

<> <> <>

 

  

_London_ _, England_

_A.D. 2009_

Christmas was, surprisingly, a success.

Everyone who had been invited showed up on time and in (relatively) good spirits; even better, once they had all settled at the dinner table, each and every mouth was stuffed so full of food that no one had any time for arguments.

Martha had assigned herself to the job of clearing the table, trucking armloads of dishes into the kitchen to be cleaned. Leaving everyone else to determine their individual portions of the leftovers, she wiped a dish towel across the antique wood, buffing out all of the caked-on remnants of gravies and glazes.

As she cleaned, she thought about how _happy_ she was. Mum and Dad were still gradually smoothing over the ruts in their relationship, and the fact that they hadn’t raised their voices all day made _everyone_ more at ease. Not only that, but even the extended family— the aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews— seemed dedicated to making the celebration a good one. It was something that they had in one way or another been lacking for several years past; to simply have such harmony was almost unfathomable, but absolutely perfect.

And, to her delight, everyone seemed to take to Mickey quite well. For never having met him and not knowing anything about him (apart from the fact that he was a co-worker of some sort), very few of the relatives had grilled him with questions or tried to threaten him into guaranteeing he treated Martha well; even her mum kept her mouth shut on many occasions where she could have tried to pick him apart. But Martha knew that the moment she told her parents that he was a good friend of the Doctor’s, they would be— although very cautious— trusting of his intentions.

Standing back and placing a hand on the nearest chair, she inspected the table one last time for any residues. A hand slid gently around her waist, prompting a smile.

“I like your folks,” Mickey announced. “They seem like nice people.” Lowering his voice, he hesitantly added, “Your Great Uncle Dennis, though, he’s kinda scary, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Martha chuckled quietly. “He’s always like that whenever one of us brings along a date.” Shaking her head, she asked, “Did you have enough to eat?”

“Oh, man, I couldn’t eat another forkful. I’d explode.”

“Then I guess you’ll miss out on dessert.”

He shrugged. “Might find room for it later.” Absently, he picked at a spot on the table that she’d apparently missed. “So, how it’s been? Looks like things turned out better than you said they might.”

With a deep contentment for that fact, she nodded. “It’s been great. Every year…” She paused, suddenly losing the strength in her voice. The words she meant to say unearthed a few very graphic memories— ones that she still hadn’t gathered enough courage to properly explain to him. But she was certainly strong enough to think about them, if only for a fleeting moment. “…Every year since the Doctor, it’s like we all try harder to get along. I guess I shouldn’t just speak for everyone else, but me an’ Mum an’ Dad an’ Tish an’ Leo… What we’ve been through’s made us better, I think. It’s like we’ve finally realized how important being there for family is.”

“But you had to learn to appreciate each other first,” Mickey softly added. Something— a feeling beyond the facts of the little pieces of his life with the Doctor that he’d shared with her— told Martha that the words came from experience.

“Yeah.” The young woman played with the cloth in her hands. With a sideways glance to the ceiling, she mused, “He’s probably out there right now, y’know, saving some planet or other for the millionth time.”

Mickey snorted fondly. “Yeah, probably.” He glanced up as well, drawing Martha just a little bit closer. “Happy Christmas, Doctor— wherever the hell you are,” he murmured.

With her heart just faintly beginning to warm and swell and break all at once, Martha bit her lip and smiled.

“Happy Christmas,” she echoed.

 

 

<> <> <>

 

  

_Chiswick_ _, England_

_A.D. 2011_

Nothing made Wilfred happier than to see his granddaughter smile.

All she ever needed was a good man to show her how special she was, and suddenly all of her wit and fire would be dedicated to the best of moods. Still, she would have her moments of anger and sadness, but she seemed to recuperate much more quickly from the upsets.

Shaun was as good-tempered a man as Wilfred had ever met, and he gave Donna that love and attention she so needed. Watching the man offer help to his wife through the day—though his mother and hers firmly insisted that they were in control of the entire cooking situation— was comforting. Shaun wasn’t fully aware that he had ever been something of a replacement for a good handful of men, but he rose to the challenge, going above and beyond the duties of caring for Donna.

And God knew she needed caring for, bless her soul.

But she _was_ cared for, by Shaun and Sylvia and Wilfred himself; and, though long ago it felt like goodbye once and for all, he knew that she had a constant guardian angel— or alien, as it were— in a telephone box. That was what allowed him to sleep peacefully at night.

All while he was contemplating, his hands kept working at the thick, shining paper that sheathed his present. Peeling the wrapping away, he laughed warmly at the box.

“Hope you like it,” Donna declared. “I figure, he loves his telescope so much, why not give ‘em one for ‘on-the-go’?” she explained, full with air quotes as she repeated the saying garishly emblazoned on the package. “Probably can’t see as well with that as your other one, but it should be better than nothin’.”

Sylvia nodded in approval, crossing her arms. “It’s even better than that other one. Someday, he’s gonna throw his back out running that huge thing up and down that hill.”

“Oi now, no need to patronize me, darlin’,” he amiably retorted. “These old bones have still got some life left in ‘em.” Taking another moment to appreciate the compact telescope, he sighed gratefully and turned to his granddaughter. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll open it up once we’re all done— you and I can test it together, eh?”

And that they did, once all of the wrapping paper and ribbons had been corralled into the garbage and Shaun’s parents had gone home. Sylvia was prepared to go home as well, but Donna made sure that Wilfred kept good on his promise before they left (mostly to make sure that she didn’t have to throw a fit at the manufacturers if something was wrong with the gift.)

Bundled up with their winter coats (and his favorite hat), they stood on Donna’s front lawn. She waited expectantly as her grandfather aligned the eyepiece and adjusted the scope.

He nearly had to bite his tongue in an attempt to control his emotion. The small telescope was not of the highest quality (and certainly not the quality that its packaging had advertised), but it still brought him so wonderfully close to the heavens. He focused on the farthest stars and, as he often had wondered, posed the question, _Did Donna ever make it there?_ The thought was beautiful, and very, very heartbreaking; but the last thing he wanted to do was cry. He _couldn’t,_ no matter how much he felt like it. All that she ever had to know was that he was a crazy old man who loved the sky— not why he seemed to love it so much more in the past years.

There was a shade of concern in her voice when she asked, “What is it, Gramps? Doesn’t it work?”

Lowering the instrument, he summoned a confident smile onto his face. “It’s just perfect, Donna. Really, it’s a lovely gift; thank you, again.”

The tension seemed to melt from her posture. “Good.” With a gentle squeeze to his arm, she said, “I’m gonna go inside and finish cleanin’ up. Don’t stay out here too long, all right?”

Nodding, he gave her an affectionate nudge. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Tell your mother I’ll be ready in just a minute.”

Once the satisfying _thud_ of the front door caught his ears, Wilfred brought his attention back to the sky, skimming through the stars like a magazine. Perhaps it was foolish— utterly pointless— to keep up hopes of seeing that daft Doctor again; but he was always a foolish old fellow, from what he’d been told. What harm was it to be foolish just for one more night?

However, the vastness of space offered no definitive signs, and the wind was swiftly picking up. It wasn’t right to worry anyone half to death by standing outside waiting for something no better than a mirage. Collapsing the telescope, he silently turned to the house, following his and Donna’s footprints in the snow.

But, with one last glance over his shoulder, he spotted a twinkle that couldn’t possibly be— yet he would hold onto the delusion that, _just maybe_ , it was.

With a weary chuckle, he shook his head.

“Happy Christmas, son.”

 

 

<> <> <>

 

 

_Manhattan_ _, New York, United States of America_

_A.D. 1953_

The bold aroma of coffee caused a stir in the jumbled mass of man and bed sheets.

Once he had fully broken out of the bleary trance that kept him asleep, Rory wrestled his arms out of the duvet and peeled many layers of cloth back from his body. He leisurely swung his legs over the bedside and, a bit wobbly at first, stood up to stretch. With the promise of a good jolt of caffeine awaiting him, he left the bedroom behind, entering the hallway.

His first stop was the bathroom, to quickly splash his face with water and make use of the toilet. The second was at Anthony’s door, to check on him; unsurprisingly, the boy was still in deep sleep, sprawled carelessly on his bed as a product of exhaustion from a particularly late Christmas Eve celebration. The third stop was at the window by the foot of the stairs, just to give him a moment to make absolutely certain he wasn’t about to catch any more winks (and have another unfortunate dropping-one’s-nose-into-scalding-liquid incident as he did several weeks ago).

Fourth and final was the kitchen, the source of the blessed pot of coffee and, as an extra treat, his lovely wife. Traveling to her across the linoleum, he placed his hands on her waist and left a peck on her cheek.

“Good morning, Mister Pond,” she greeted brightly (though it was clear that she hadn’t been up very long either and was still trying to shake off the drowsiness.)

Rory chuckled softly. She still had a tendency to use that label for him, most notably when she was either very pleased or very feisty. It never seemed to have the same effect since Winter’s Quay, but he had no objections to the playful title.

“Morning, Missus Williams. Coffee smells amazing.”

“Best cuppa joe in all of New York,” she proclaimed, attempting her best American drawl. “Anthony up yet?”

At the end of stifling a yawn, Rory shook his head. “Still sleeping. It’s not like he’s five anymore, is it?”

Clearly, by the longsuffering smile on Amy’s face, she too was recalling the Christmases past when their son would bulldoze into their bed, climbing over them and tugging on their sleeves and demanding their presence by the presents. “Now it practically takes an act of God to wake that boy up.”

Rory shrugged. “Well, at least that means we have time to ourselves, for now.”

Even with the relatively quiet lifestyle they claimed for their own, time to do whatever they pleased uninterrupted could pass as a Christmas miracle. Maybe it was a latent side effect of time travel, an absurd need to be occupied with some interesting task or another at every given moment of existence; but whether they had become so busy of their own volition or not, they had learned to accept that they would never find the happy medium between constant activity and relaxation. Now, however, they had found a satisfying equilibrium sitting face to face on either end of the kitchen table.

Still, it couldn’t succeed in keeping Amy from drumming her fingers on her coffee mug or Rory from an occasional moment of fidgeting.  They both knew why, though they never said it in words. It was said in drawn-out sighs and fleeting glances at two very specific spots on the table— sections of their humble kitchen, side by side, reserved for guests.

_One for the Doctor. One for River._

The first handful of Christmases had ended in frustration and regret and a few tear-stained shirts; after that, there had been one or two Christmases where they had almost resigned themselves to their tragedy, and those places had never been set. But then they adopted little Anthony, who’d only just learned to talk at the time, and there was a certain quiet hope that he unknowingly gave to their lives. The tradition was soon after reborn.

Maybe the two couples would never meet again, or maybe they would, some day. The laws of the universe might have declared it impossible, but they were an impossible family. That same hereditary (and marital) fire kept optimism alive, at least for that one magical day of the year.

“They’ll show up,” Amy murmured. Her words were not marked by certainty or longing or sorrowful denial…they just _were_. “Just you wait: one day, we’ll get them to sit their sorry selves at this table.”

Rory clutched his mug a little tighter. “I hope you’re right.”

With a loving solemnity, she replied, “Me too.” Then, with a determined shine in her eyes, the mood changed to that of typical Amy Pond assertion. “Happy Christmas, Melody. And Happy Christmas, Raggedy Man,” she breathed, first to the empty seats and then to the sky. “Don’t be late for dinner.”

 

 

<> <> <>

 

 

_The Illicar System, eight hundred and seventy-two trillion light years from the farthest reaches of the Milky Way_

_3106 B.C._

The Doctor was hardly surprised to find River Song knocking gently at the TARDIS doors. In fact, due to the circumstances that had brought him to land on this nondescript planetoid, it could _only_ be River.

Her grin, that same _I know something you don’t_ grin, was bold as ever. “Hello, husband.” She lifted her hands, showing off a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses. “Happy Christmas.”

Exasperated, the Doctor shook his head. “River…”

“Yes?”

“You just blew up part of an asteroid belt.”

She gave a chipper nod. “How else was I supposed to bring you here?”

“It’s my _favorite_ asteroid belt!” he pouted.

“Precisely.”

The Time Lord’s mouth hung open peevishly as his wife sauntered through the doors, placing her gifts below the console and stroking her fingers across various levers and dials. “All right,” he conceded, “it’s effective. But you could have sent a hologram or carrier pigeon or even electronic mail— you didn’t have to ruin the belt just to say ‘land here!’” Sauntering forward, he lightly smacked her hand when she even _dared_ to play with the blue boringers, and took advantage of the attention he gained. “Why did you need me to come here anyway?”

“Just a friendly visit,” she replied, smacking him back.

“What day was it? When did you last see me?”

“Friday. When I last saw you, we went to New New New Paris.”

“Friday!” he echoed. “I would have seen you tomorrow! You could have waited one day for me to visit instead of obliterating _my favorite asteroids._ ”

River shook her head tolerantly. “As I said, whether you caught it in the middle of your moping or not, it’s also Christmas for me. I wasn’t going to wait for that. After all, _you_ never do.”

Finally, his mouth clapped shut; there was no arguing to be done at this point. “Well,” he gradually surrendered, “I can appreciate the sentiment.”

“Of course you can.” The woman reached for the champagne, retrieved a corkscrew from her jacket’s inner pocket, and popped the cork straight into the wall (eliciting a grumpy little groan from the TARDIS). Grabbing one glass, she filled it to its lip and handed it to the Doctor, immediately after filling the other which she kept for herself.

The flutes softly clinked together, and they enjoyed their little celebration until the glasses were dry. As River poured them both a second serving, she asked, “Have you found anyone to travel with yet?”

The Doctor took another sip before answering. “I travel with you,” he replied bluntly.

“You know what I mean. Someone _permanent._ ”

Wishing he could finally put to rest the conversation that they had already shared several times, he stared at the console, stubbornly avoiding her eyes. “I don’t need a permanent companion, River. Besides…they’re never permanent enough.”

He could sense the spousal judgment that she was passing on him. “Yet you always find someone,” she firmly rebutted. “I know it hurts to move on, but I also know that you’re fully capable of doing it again. It isn’t your fault if you lose friends through the years; don’t let it change who you are.”

“And just who am I? A man who sets himself up for failure?”

Looking up, he could see that her smile was tender. “You know yourself better than I do, Sweetie. You have to remember that."

“But what if I don’t really know? I don’t _always_ have the answers to the important questions, even if they’re the questions that I should have memorized front to back,” he lamented.

“And you don’t have to. But I know that you know the answer to these particular questions— you need someone to travel with, because that’s what keeps you being you.”

The Doctor sighed, trying to dig himself out of the pit of misery and introspection that he’d stumbled into. He was never fond of the times when River could be so unavoidably right; it always made him look ridiculous while she got to smile from the sidelines. But he _was_ missing having someone to travel with very much, and he wasn’t prepared to deny that. It was different when he knew that he had someone (or _someones_ ) waiting for him, more or less— someone who was always ready and reliable— for then he could travel alone for a little while. That same lifestyle was much more difficult when he needed to realize that no one waited for him and his various whims, if only because he would become so used to such a routine that a life without it felt so…empty.

But it wasn’t every day that he could find the ones with the proper balance to follow him into the TARDIS. Granted, he had all of creation to search through for those rare and brilliant souls; yet he had no indication of where to start.

Still, River was correct. He needed a new companion, and very badly at that. Someone to give him that microscopic iota of sanity and reasoning when he least wanted it and most required it.

Finishing off the second glass of champagne, he set the glass down for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?” he modestly questioned.

River’s smile glowed brighter once again. “Not that I can think of, no. But then again, I can’t say I would do such an injustice to anyone I know.”

“Oh, _ha_ - _ha_ ,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes. “You know, you’re not always so fun to be with either, Doctor Song. Not usually. Well, sometimes. Occasionally. Most of the time.” He was squirming uncomfortably under her challenging stare by the last word.

“Well, I’ll make sure that I’m fun to be with this time,” she said with a sly wink. “Believe me, Sweetie: when I say ‘Happy Christmas’, I intend to make it that way.”

The Doctor recovered and quirked his lips into a smile. “I hope so.”

 

 

<> <> <>

 

 

_Wandsworth_ _, England_

_A.D. 2013_

If Clara hadn’t managed to hold back a grin, the family might have thought she was crackers. Even worse, they might have gotten _curious_.

She was not surprised that they failed to note the otherworldly and indescribable noise causing a racket outside. The only way to notice the TARDIS was by pure accident, unless you were expressly searching for the TARDIS— or the _TARDIS_ was searching for _you_. For being a sore thumb in almost every culture that wasn’t twentieth century England, it was a surprisingly inconspicuous little (or big, depending on where you were standing) box. Apparently, even the loud, wheezing groans of the ship fell under the same unexplainable subtlety.

As the familiar sound weakened, Clara gently set her fork down onto her plate and smoothed out her dress. “I’ll be right back,” she quietly murmured, trying not to seem too eager to launch out of her chair.

“Oh, Clara dear, where are you going?” Aunt Janice asked, loudly enough to gather everyone’s attention (except for Cousin Max— that child never paid any attention a day in his life.)

Halting, Clara tried not to betray her guilty conscience. _Well, it’s not like I’m actually going to_ go _anywhere with him tonight…_ “I think I left my mobile in the car,” she announced. “’Fraid it might freeze if I leave it out there.”

To her dismay, her father didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Can’t it wait until you’ve finished eating?”

She shook her head, regretting every moment that she stood around, awkwardly leading everyone on. “I’ve got some important notes for work saved on there, and I can’t afford having the battery die and losing them.” Sending her gaze across the entire table, she added, “I’m really sorry, everyone. I know it’s rude.”

“It’s all right, Clara,” said Granddad Oswald. With a teasing twinkle in his eyes, he continued, “You’ll just have to give up your slice of pie as an apology.”

“If I hurry up, can I at least have half?” she bargained.

Meanwhile, her father sighed, obviously not very pleased about the situation. However, he still reached into his pocket and relinquished his car keys. “Here you go. Now hurry back, all right?”

Rounding the table to claim the keys, she put on her most grateful and sweetest smile. “Thanks— be right back.”

As politely as possible, she dashed through her aunt’s house to the front door, stealing a quick glance at her purse by the coat stand and willing the phone that was _definitely not_ in said purse to stay silent all while she was gone. Once outside, she turned to walk along the side of the house, hoping to stay unnoticed; she _also_ tried to ignore the fact that she was trudging through three foot snow in flats. _The things I do to see that old snog box._ By the time her eyes met the back yard, she was clinging to herself, attempting to contain some rather violent shivers.

Of course, it was no surprise that the Doctor was already waiting for her, and sporting the most adorably ridiculous Santa hat ever to sit on a man’s head. His eyes shone with the warmth of a thousand blazing candles as he clasped his hands merrily. “Happy Christmas, Clara Oswald.”

“Same to you,” she greeted. With a sympathetic smile on her lips, she quickly declared, “Before you start, I’m not coming with you tonight.”

“Well, assuming that’s why I showed up at your one of your relatives’ humble abode in the first place, why not?”

“Because I’m spending time with family, which is the whole point of being at a relative’s house.”

“Yes, I know that,” he answered, a quizzical look flashing across his features. “But are you having fun? Because that’s practically the whole point of all of the Christmas hullabaloo, you know: being happy, having a laugh, all of that sort.”

“Yes,” she firmly supplied. “I’m having a very good time. Well…” The accusatory lifting of the Doctor’s brows was slowly bringing out the truth. “… _Somewhat_ having a good time. _Ish_.”

A secret smile danced onto his face. “Well then, I’m here to rescue you from the ‘ _ish_ ’. No ‘ _ish_ ’ tonight.” He gently nudged the TARDIS doors, causing them to swing open to the familiar interior. “Planets to meet, people to see, and all the best parties to crash. Whaddya say?”

Clara stole a glance back at the house. She wanted so badly to be able to leave it behind with no regrets, but despite the admitted dullness of the evening, she felt the demands of responsibility telling her to stay for their sakes. What would they say if they ever found out that five minutes to the car had actually been five hours across the galaxies? Still, Christmas only came once a year, and there were so many things that she could do and no one would be the wiser…

She pursed her lips and cocked her head, trying to be stern with him. “You’ll have to bring me back to exactly one minute from now or next time you’ll be flying solo. Got it?”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, confidently wagging an eyebrow.

Clara let the grin that had started when the TARDIS arrived come into fruition. She took a few steps forward through the snow and to the impossible vehicle. “Then we have a deal.”

The Doctor nodded in satisfaction as she made a full path across the frosted lawn. She was thinking of all of the endless possibilities that they could grab hold of, all of the planets that could be visited and the mischief they could make, as she wordlessly greeted the tetchy old space-and-time-ship. But as her shoes clattered across from snow to metal, she turned, noticing that the Doctor hadn’t made an effort to leave the doorway. He must have been thinking, and something suspicious in the corner of her mind told her that it wasn’t on the topics that she had been thinking about. Slowing retracing those last steps to him, she placed her hand on his shoulder.

Softly, she inquired, “What’s wrong?” She could see the ancient depth of joy and melancholy swirling in his green eyes as she had seen many times before. It was always hardest to tell at those moments whether he could even have one emotion without the other.

But he smiled, pursing his lips like he sometimes would whenever he thought of things that were special and dear and very, very distant. “Oh, it’s nothing, really; I’m fine. Just…thinking of some old friends.” He stared at the ground for a moment. “I love Christmastime. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what Christmas is _really_ all about. _Love_. Whether you’re happy or not, it’s about caring.” His eyes darted up to the sky, shining with just a slight betrayal of tears. “And, to me, it’s about the people I care for.” Meeting her gaze, he added, “Including you, Clara. You…and so many other brilliant people, on Earth and among the stars.”

Feeling a rising warmth in her chest, Clara leaned closer to give him a half-hug. “And we all care for you, Doctor.”

His attention was drawn again to the glow of the millions of billions of _trillions_ of suns and stars and galaxies. “Quite right, too,” he murmured, voice melting into a whisper.

His eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell with a sigh that spoke for more than just words.

“Happy Christmas, everyone.”

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the fic! I know it's a day early, but Merry/Happy Christmas to everyone! Even if you don't celebrate, I hope you have a lovely week all the same. :)


End file.
